Long way home
by beautifulwhensarcastic
Summary: John McGarrett's death is a horrendous blow to Steve, no explanations needed. But with his and Catherine's deep involvement in the case revolving around Anton Hesse, they start to believe that maybe the murder of his father wasn't just purely hinged on revenge. Possible hidden motives are questioned, risks are heightened, and ghosts of their pasts slink back to haunt them.
1. Prologue

_I want to thank my amazing beta, Trish, for investing her time and mind on this work, helping me make it better. You are truly great! _

_Maureen, my queen of inspiration :) probably would never even try writing a multichapter fic, if it weren't for you, so thank you. I hope this story won't disappoint you._

_To the readers - it could be classified as a "what if" story, but I am more into calling it a slight AU considering that I changed a few things, but the main plot stays the same. The current events of the plot will be interlaced with flashbacks to the past. _

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><p><strong><strong>Multiple Threat Alert Center<strong>****  
><strong>****U.S. Naval Forces Central Command ******  
><strong>****Manama, Bahrain******  
><strong>****September, 2010****

The heavy, regular sound of marching is not uncommon within these pastel walls. The footsteps always echo in the same steady rhythm, even with dozens of sailors walking in different directions through the recently refurbished Naval Support Activity building. The familiar tempo, somehow always resounding in the background of everyday work, often works as a steadying point. Yet, as she follows the stocky Petty Officer Delgado down the corridor in the less crowded, and heavily guarded wing, she feels her heart pounding in sync with their loud steps.

Being called in by her own CO rarely gets her blood rushing and pulse quick, but an unexpected command to report to the MTAC has never happened before.

Catherine has been in the Center exactly two times in the past ten months since her transfer to Bahrain, both being a necessity of her work. They had both been scheduled in advance, and approved by a vastly high chain of command, for the purposes of assembling and crossing data for an ongoing operation. Being pulled away from her work by a Petty Officer stating that the Captain himself requests her presence in MTAC immediately, however, is definitely a first time occurrence. One that raced her heart for a second as she stood to attention, the gears in her mind processing all the possible reasons behind that command.

The walk from her station takes less than five minutes, but the time seems to stretch, prodding her mind with options. She keeps breathing steadily, the regular, shallow intakes of breath slowing her heart rate and letting her regain full control over her nervously trembling body.

There's not a chance that any aspect of her work might be questioned - she pays attention to details and protocol. Though, admittedly, there are a few stains on her impeccable resume, minor regulation breaks and acts conducted under the radar. A part of her instinctively raises the fear of it being discovered, but the logical part of her mind assures her that wouldn't be the way to handle it.

No, there is definitely something else at stake.

As they approach the two-winged, code-secured door, two guards instinctively tense, briefly glancing at them. Recognizing the officer escorting Catherine, they shift their gaze back. Petty Officer Delgado quickly taps the code into the panel and the doors open with a swish.

Contrary to many beliefs, the Multiple Threat Alert Center is not an enormous room, often portrayed as a resemblance of an academic auditorium combined with NASA's headquarters. Granted, it is quite spacious, but only with a few people working in it. One of the walls consists of screens, like big glass tiles joined in one surface, usually displaying a geographical profile map with pulled up files of currently conducted missions. Catherine's gaze slides along the long, black counter on the left, with a set of computers, exactly four people working on them, their fingers scrambling over the keyboards.

Her eyes shift towards two men directly opposite the entrance, under the row of clocks displaying different hours in time zones all around the globe. Captain Hasting's presence is not surprising, he is said to be visiting MTAC regularly, persistent on being up to date with every detail, but the dress blues he's wearing suggest he's been - just like Catherine - unexpectedly pulled from his occupation, probably some official meeting.

And this is a detail indicating the situation that brought them both to this place is serious, making Catherine's palms sweat as the natural fear creeps in.

Petty Officer Delgado nods shortly, leaving her standing on the spot, while he strides towards the Captain and Lieutenant, with whom he speaks. Their gazes shift up to glance at her briefly, both quickly returning to their previous conversation. Catherine knows the protocol, so she stays in the exact same spot, waiting to be approached or summoned.

She quickly gives up the attempt to read the Captain's body language in hope of getting any hint from the way his rigid body reacts to the Lieutenant's report. As far as she knows, they might not even talk about anything that involves her anyhow. Instead, she slightly turns her head, looking at the wall of screens.

The combined glass tiles display a satellite image of what seems to be a foreign area, the main focus the remains of a burning convoy. Splashes of dark green suggest an open, though secluded, space, a valley with the wilderness around and an outline of hills in the background. Burnt pieces of vehicles are scattered across the road, along with parts of military equipment. For someone who has seen the aftermath of bombs exploding, fallen soldiers' bodies and clearly recognisable - and Catherine, unfortunately, has seen it before. There's also an upturned transportation truck on the side of the road, a chain of bodies fallen all around it, probably killed while protecting whatever, or whoever, was inside of it.

The whole image is suddenly disturbed, when a set of three screens on the leftmost side black out, only to, within a few seconds, upload an enlarged personal file. A combination of pictures and reports, which Catherine knows all too well, makes her heart stop in its rhythm.

The unhidden smirk on the cold, scrawny face of Anton Hesse, brings back a flash of memory, renewing the bitter, metallic taste in her mouth and the numbing pain.

Eyes drifting back and forth between Hesse's photo and the ongoing scene of the attacked convoy, she notices a silhouette still moving close to one of the bodies.

Can it be Hesse himself? Is he the one responsible for the attack on military transport? If so, then why isn't he retreating?

Catherine's train of thoughts stops abruptly as she notices a tall figure approaching her, from the corner of her eye. The Captain's body is rather lanky, still holding the remains of illness he fought with recently. But his eyes are still bright and attentive, his moves energetic and sharp, distinctive for most of military men. Standing to attention, she stares ahead, saluting him. "At ease," something in his tone increases her worry and she clenches her hands harder, blunt fingernails digging into the insides of her palms.

Not daring to avert her gaze, though it tempts her to look at the satellite image to check on that one survivor, Catherine keeps her eyes fixed on a far point. Looking up at the man before her, when he speaks to her directly, in a tone much softer, but filled with compassion.

The Captain's eyes bore into hers as he says, "Lieutenant McGarrett, there's been a tragic incident."


	2. Chapter 1

****United States Fleet Activities ******  
><strong>****Yokosuka, Japan,******  
><strong>****September, 2010****

Compared to the loud and packed twelve-hour-long flight, or even to the semi-quiet MTAC in Bahrain, this place is like a pit of dead silence. The sterile white walls are splashed with big spots of sunlight falling through the windows. There is only one door at the end of the hall, but Catherine can't bring herself to even go close to it. Her body is curled up on the floor, arms around her bent legs as she leans her head on the wall with a sigh, closing her eyes. Flecks of light dance on her skin, but she can't feel the warmth of the sun through the windows, fear and sadness filling her with too much cold, suppressing everything into numbness. The long corridor, which seems to have no end, overwhelms her petite figure, which appears to be like that of a tiny, fragile doll, about to crumble.

But she can't, not yet anyway. The streams of tears she shed on the flight here couldn't lull her to sleep, as all of the emotions are still bottled up, straining each neuron in her fatigued body. Guarding herself is not really Catherine's choice of facing and dealing with things - she prefers a worked out technique of getting it all out of her system, to regain rags of control.

This situation is different though, the aching wound that death caused cutting deeper with each thought about what __he __must be going through.

And her heart seems to be falling into pieces for both of them.

The echo of the Captain's words still resounds in her head, a dull, empty tone clenching at her heart over and over again. There's a part of her that is still fighting against accepting that... John McGarrett is dead.

A man who had become her family, who was more than just a father-in-law. He was a friend. One with whom she shared all those smiles upon his son's stubborn face; who fiercely debated with her the primacy of the Redskins over the Dallas Cowboys; the one who called her out of nowhere to ask for her coconut cookie recipe.

The randomness of memories coming back to her at that moment irritates her, as none of them are distinctively meaningful, though God knows they have had a few of those. It is, instead, just a chain of the simplest flashes, none giving the full picture and coming even a tiny bit close to mirroring her depth of feeling, a feeling like a part of her heart was being ripped out.

Appreciating small moments and keeping in touch with shards of everyday reality hold a great power, Catherine knows, especially being in the Navy, when every day has the potential to bring about a downward spiral. It builds stability, belonging, and the feeling of having a safe shore to return to at some point, be it the end of the day, the week, or several years. Yet, there is a voice that demands the remembrance of how great John has been, to praise more than just the delicious taste of his lime-honey chicken served with a broad smile on the lanai behind his house.

Cath's distress goes beyond the frames of losing a family member, in the tragic brutality of a complicated past that got back to haunt them. It also surges to the person who is somewhere within these walls, forced to brace himself instead of being able to mourn.

The routines and rules are not only for bureaucracy, they're also part of a tactic to provide at least a small opportunity to refocus, to unburden the body and mind of a troubled soldier. It's not only to serve for long term efficiency, but also as a form of stability to which one can hold on, for the first hours and days after a tragedy.

Yet, Catherine would love nothing more than to get him out of the briefing room and into her arms, trying to give him a feeling of safety and support, and definitely not expecting him to get a grip. They have found each other's embrace calming more than once, not only with the usual distress of their jobs. Some experiences turn their hearts inside out, shattering them to pieces, and the presence of one another appeared to be the only thing which grounded them. With the flash of Anton Hesse's face, the memory of the most gruesome nightmare comes back to her head, the one that only Steve's body protected her from.

Before her thoughts spiral down the hellish hole of fear and guilt, only adding to the grief of the current situation, the overwhelming silence is finally broken by the sound of an opening door.

She's up on her feet in an instant, eyes glued to the man exiting the room on the far end.

But it's not the silhouette she wants to see right now and an annoyed, impatient sigh escapes her lips, but it's a familiar posture, which she recognizes immediately, standing to full attention.

He dismisses her with a short wave of a hand, not even aiming for regulatory formalities before he strides to her and embraces her in a comforting hug. "I'm so sorry, Catherine," he holds her for a second more and pulls back, hands still resting on her shoulders, squeezing gently, "John was a great friend."

"Thanks, Joe," her voice is hoarse, barely audible. She realizes it's the first time she has spoken since reporting over thirty hours ago to the MTAC, hours of crying and suppressed sobbing having dried her throat to the point where she can only whisper helplessly.

Clearing her throat a few times, Cath motions towards the door and manages to ask in a more audible tone, "Is he-?"

"He'll be out in a few minutes," Joe offers a small, faint smile, which he is sure will not help to ease her anxiety, nor would it lessen her worry for Steve, even if he had mastered the most convincing, bright grin. Neither is he able to do that, being shaken by the situation himself. He has known them long enough to know that nothing can bring actual relief until they can see each other. "Only formalities," he assures her, "I left early, 'cause I want to arrange a flight to Oahu for the two of you."

"No," Catherine shakes her head, eyes shifting to the door, looking at it longingly, before drifting back to Commander White's face, "Just for him."

"What?" Clear confusion displays on his face - it is very unlike Catherine to retreat, especially from a personal __assignment __of supporting her loved ones.

"I know my husband, Joe," she sighs, rubbing her face with both of her hands, but unfortunately it doesn't scrub away the frustration, "Right now there are __two __cases on his mind. His dad, and Freddie," the way she looks back at him leaves no room for arguing with her determination, "He can't deal with both at the same time, so I will stay with Freddie, until Kelly flies in. Then meet Steve in Hawaii."

"Understood," he nods shortly and turns his head, gaze locking on the door, "I will be there for the funeral, whenever it'll be possible to organize it. Now, excuse me, but I really want to schedule a flight for him. The sooner the better, knowing his low patience level."

"Yeah," Cath's eyes follow, staring at the same exact spot, wishing that the door would finally open, "I doubt he'll be able to sit and process. Not now. He needs answers first," shaking her head, she returns her focus to Joe, "Anyway, thank you."

"Not a problem," Joe leans over to hug her one more time, "See you soon, Catherine. Be strong, for both of you." With one last squeeze he walks away.

As he strides down the corridor, the echo of his boots rumbling rhythmically, leaving Catherine in a frozen stance, her whispered, delayed response merely sounds in her own ears, "I always am." She tries, which never comes easy, considering both their jobs, not only his assignments, but hers as well. But it's worth it, worth everything. Somehow the power of support in their dynamic shifts involuntarily - depending on the situation and the time, one of them taking the role of being the solid one, sensing the other's need to crumble into pieces. Granted, there were moments when stubbornness made them both rigid at the same time, but they've learned to respect that it's something they both need sometimes, too.

When, minutes later, the door opens and __finally __that awaited figure appears, Catherine knows she will have to be the strong one. Not in that exact second, with Steve's defense mechanisms still high and his tendency to push the feelings away, until the right moment to express them comes. Maybe it will be after John's funeral, or the night before it, or even a month afterwards, but she's ready to shelter him within her own arms.

Steve's body is tensed, but his steps are slow and slightly wobbly, like he has just come back from a twenty-kilometre march with full gear on. His gaze casted down on the floor, until he notices boots and he lifts his eyes up.

Seeing her is not really a surprise, but a part of him always takes her presence as something unexpected, like he is still stuck in a state of disbelief that he is lucky enough to have met her, to be loved by her. A faint, but powerful sparkle of light in the sudden darkness that tries to consume him.

Her body crashes into his, arms wrapping tightly around him, fingers gripping at his BDUs. Her soft voice trembles with his name, the sound muffled on his shoulder, where she presses her head. The way she leans into him seems to be a search for support, but it's actually the opposite - she pulls him in, bracing herself for him to lean on her fully, to crush into her with all of his pain.

"Steve," she cries quietly, however hard she tries to contain her tears, they spill momentarily when he wraps his arms around her, trustingly hiding his face in the crook of her neck.

His rigid body seemingly relaxes, but she knows it's not yet the state of letting his whole guard down, he still bottles everything inside. He stays quiet for a long moment, lips pressed to her sweaty skin as he presses himself to her petite body as close as possible. The tender touch of her fingertips combing through the curls of hair above the nape of his neck makes him shiver, tempting him to just let himself fall apart in her arms.

Closing his eyes, he inhales her familiar scent and slowly pulls back. "Ca-" he pauses abruptly at the sound of his own voice cracking helplessly. Tears prick the undersides of his eyelids, daring to probe the redness of his already tired eyes, and he lifts his gaze up, blinking the tears away.

"Catherine," her name finally falls from his lips, a pleading relief in a choked tone.

There's something in the sound of her name that brings instant calmness, which is why he loves saying it so often. Calling her, mentioning her full name in conversations, sometimes murmuring to himself, whenever darkness seems to be gloomier than usual, sending shivers down his spine as he listens and looks for any danger creeping in. It's a mere illusion, he knows, but as long as it helps him focus and keep moving on, he won't trade that technique for any other.

"I'm-" Cath shakes her head, tears streaming down her face, because ridiculously __stupid __as those words are, there is nothing else she can say in this moment, "I'm so sorry, Steve. So sorry."

He barely nods, gritting his teeth more tightly. The helplessness behind her words threatens to tear the last straw of hope he's holding on to - wishing for them to be able to keep strong through it, but the wound runs so deep it seems to shatter them both. And the worst is, he is not sure if he can protect her from it. Hand sneaking onto her neck, he pulls her closer once again, kissing her forehead as his thumb brushes gently on the inked skin on the back of her neck.

"Can we, uh," he glances around uncomfortably, the cold sterile walls evoking horrid thoughts of hospitals... and morgues. A thought he can't yet face, though he does everything to prepare himself for it. Wiping the tears from Cath's cheek, he tries to focus his gaze on her tired face, hoping for it to ground him.

"Can we go?" Steve's voice is quiet and hoarse as he asks, "Somewhere outside, please?"

"Of course," Catherine quickly straightens, reaching for his hand. In a flash she's ready to push everything aside, just to bring him an ounce of comfort, it's the least she can do. She bends to pick her duffel bag up, but Steve is quicker, throwing it over his shoulder while his other hand rests on the small of her back. That simple, gesture, that somehow is so natural for him, always makes her smile, though this time the corners of her mouth quickly fall down way too soon afterwards.

The fresh air, somehow soaked with a flowery scent as they sit down under a large cypress in the base's green area, pleasantly washes away the scent of sweat and oil they both have been smelling for the past long hours. Steve leans his back on the tree's trunk, closing his eyes as he takes a deep, calming breath. Sunlight streams through the green branches, but since he took that phone call everything seems to be greyish and lacklustre. And there's the chaos of sounds in the back of his head whenever he closes his eyes, a mix of Freddie's voice, his father's words and the echo of his own scream.

Cath's voice comes like a soft wave that disperses the havoc of sounds, "Freddie is fine."

Steve opens his eyes, their haunted look turning into a thankful one. Long ago he stopped trying to figure out how it is possible for someone to know him so well, knowing what to say, or when to say nothing. But he knows her well too, and it's easy to figure out that she tries to help him refocus, to make him realize not all hope is gone.

"They wouldn't tell me much," she sighs, opening the bag and withdrawing a slightly damaged package, "As I'm not his next-of-kin, but they will proceed with another surgery today - I think around now, actually."

Without a word Steve observes her moves, how her fingers are still trembling, but each gesture and grip is firm and not nervous. She opens the package, which as he suspected, contains basic provisions. "You should eat," she pushes a small goji bar into his hand and takes half a sandwich in her own. There's not a hint of question in her voice, if he even wants to eat, because she knows too well that he definitely does not, knows that his throat and stomach are tied in a knot. But he has to.

He unwraps the bar slowly, swallowing a few times as if to prepare his heavy stomach, hoping that the contents won't come back up right away. As he glances at Catherine, it looks like she prays for the same, munching slowly on the sandwich.

"Think one of the bullets went through his lung," Steve mumbles, before taking the first bite. Focusing on keeping it in his stomach and not throwing up at least keeps his thoughts away from the terrifying memory of seeing his friend's body pierced by bullets.

"Seems so," Cath nods her head, "But from what I've gathered, it looks like they will save his lung. Though, he might not be able to dive anymore."

She casts a quick glance at Steve, hoping the mention of his friend's probable disability to go back to SEALs won't add to Steve's long list of guilt and worry. Freddie had always wanted to become a SEAL, but it was never as deeply embroidered within him as it was for Steve.

"He will have a lot of other things to dive into," Steve's sudden snort, which is followed by a smile, surprises Cath and she looks at him questioningly. Swallowing another bite, he explains, "Bubba got married."

"Got __what__?!" Catherine almost chokes on her sandwich, quickly reaching for the canteen and washing it down.

"He and Kelly got married, like a week ago," he shakes his head with the same mixture of surprise and happiness as he had felt in the moment when Freddie had announced it to him for the first time, "She's pregnant."

Remembering that is bound to bring more burden later, thinking how Freddie almost got killed and would never have been able to even meet his baby, if the mission had gone even worse than it had.

For now, though, it provides a certain lightness, a streak of happiness and hope. If Cath's words come true, he will be all right and will soon be annoying Steve with complaints about his pregnant wife's cravings. And Steve feels like he will be most happy to listen to them.

Cath shakes her head, eyes dropping to the grass briefly as she mutters, "Wow." She takes another sip of water before looking up at him, "Well they owe us a wedding party. I'm going to tell Freddie that, they won't get off that easy."

"Yeah, and a stag party too," Steve squishes the colourful wrapper in his fist, not even noticing that he has eaten the whole thing without an onset of nausea, "Though, it probably won't be as epic as mine was," he winks at her.

"Finding a bunch of snoring, drunk SEALs in the living room was truly epic," her snort evokes a grin on his face, a flash of a second when everything else disappears as the happy memory fills his mind, "On the other hand, Sam cuddling my leg was definitely __something__."

They smile at each other for a moment, until the reality creeps back in, slowly erasing the levity. Danger and unknown have always been a part of their lives. However hard it is so often, neither of them regret anything, and definitely not the two most important things - the Navy, and each other. Sometimes, missions going awry, or a lack of information about the other one's whereabouts, aren't the trickiest of obstacles they have to face. Yet, they overcome them, fighting hard for each other, as it seems there is never anything more worth fighting for. Side by side they faced a few nightmares, but haven't been prepared for this one.

For a parent's death by the hands of someone who they were supposed to capture.

Catherine is the first to burst the faint bubble of distraction, clearing her throat, before she speaks, "Joe will arrange a flight for you to Oahu. I'm going to stay with Freddie, until Kelly comes."

"Thank you," he reaches for her hand that plays with the canteen cap, squeezing her fingers gently.

He has never been too good with expressing his feelings, many people wouldn't understand his need to be alone for a few days, especially after a tragedy like this one. Others always have the tendency to look at it from their perspective, taking his behaviour as an act of pushing away and shutting down. Granted, he did that sometimes, but never when it comes to Catherine. His body and mind just switch to a certain mode when he's with her, so easily stripping him of all the defence mechanisms, and right now he needs himself focused and solid for a few days more.

Entwining their fingers, Cath brings his hand up to her mouth, kissing it softly, "It's the least I can do."

"You do so much more, Cath," his fingers reach out to cup her face, a gesture into which she gladly leans, closing her eyes for a moment. When she opens them again, Steve's sure there's a new flash in them, a shimmer of a terrifying emotion, which she tries to blink away.

It's something different than grief and pain, a shadow which raises his worry, but he feels like it is not the time or space to be asking about it. Catherine's body language suggests that she tries, just like him, to suppress some emotions.

"I spoke to Freddie's dad," she says. It has never ceased to amaze him how much better she is at quickly changing subjects than he is, although everyone around thinks that it's his doing most of the time.

She continues, "He said Kelly will be here around 1900 tomorrow, so I should be on Oahu the day after. Maybe I'll even catch a night bird."

Steve pulls her close, until she's sitting beside him, half pressed to his body, head almost resting on his shoulder. "Never imagined the next time I'd be able to see you would come in such circumstances," he whispers, fingertips dancing above the knuckle of her ring finger, caressing the simple ribbon of her wedding ring. "It was supposed to be happy. I wanted to surprise you in Bahrain after that mission." When Freddie mentioned that he believed Kelly and him would be as happy as Steve is with Cath, he wanted to stupidly reply that it's not possible for anyone to be as happy as she makes him.

"Well, instead of a Halwa, we'll eat some malasadas," she turns her head slightly to look up at him, offering a small smile.

"You always get powdered sugar in your cleavage," Steve's chuckle is faint, but for a brief moment it seems to take the heaviness in his chest away. It comes back quickly, wrenching his heart as the sudden thought clouds his mind. Last time they ate Hawaiian malasadas, they weren't alone and the face of their companion comes back, reminding him of another hard step that needs to be taken.

"Catherine," he swallows hard, gripping her hand tighter, "I should call Mary, but... I'm not sure if-"

"I'll call her, Steve," she clasps his hand between hers. Over the past two years the relationship between Steve and his sister got better, she'd even dare to say they had made huge progress, but the grudges and fear are still there behind their gestures, or rather the lack of them. Somehow Mary bonded with Catherine, though God knows how rough that road was, opening up to her and seeking her support when Steve withdrew, feeling helpless and afraid to worsen her state.

"It shouldn't be like this," Steve's voice cracks and he hangs his head low, chin resting on his chest as he tries to restrain the tears threatening to spill out.

"No, it shouldn't," Catherine murmurs, her own eyes watering once again, "All we can do now is honour your dad's memory. And find the people responsible for it."

He nods, slowly lifting his head up and clearing his throat, the lump still in it, choking his words. It's hard to determine exactly when the job became personal, at which point the mission of hunting down the Hesse brothers turned into a mutual game of cat and mouse, but it seems to spiral down at a rapid pace, getting out of control. Whether the first boundary was crossed six years ago in that small, abandoned shed outside of Salhani, or two years ago on the border of Afghanistan, the longer it takes, the more he is convinced there's something else at stake than the IRA's gun dealer's vendetta.


	3. Chapter 2

Thank you all for the wonderful reviews and PMs, to all the guest reviewers and people, who sent me DMs and lovely tweets (LuckyStar). It's a big journey for me - writing this story, and I am really happy to have such great companions with me.

For those, who were wondering how 'big' this adventure will be - there's a lot in the store for Steve and Cath, honestly the story grows and grows ;)

Today we get a glimpse at how Steve and Cath first met... how _everything_ begun...

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><p><strong><strong>Naval Support Activity Base<strong>****  
><strong>****Naples, Italy,******  
><strong>****March, 2004****

__"I told you not to touch it, man," Freddie cringes as the computer's screen fills with a dozen pop-up windows, red labels and warning signs basically screaming at them.__

__"And I told you to shut up, Hart," Steve barks out, quickly typing new commands on the slightly worn out keyboard, but gets rid only of a few unwanted boxes. The program, which he knows so well from back when he was working in Intel, appears to be jinxed or malfunctioning, because no upgrade would turn it into a hell like this one. He's really tempted to smack that keyboard into the screen, but fortunately restrains himself, channelling the frustration into harder typing instead.__

__And Freddie really hopes none of the keys will pop out and kill someone with the impact, considering the ferocity of Steve's action.__

__Being stuck at the Italian base would have its benefits, of which all members of his team would gladly make use, if only it was a brief visit and not a new sort of a black op mission, which for now consists only of gathering intel, because they are blind as to where to make the next move.__

__When Captain Hasting and Commander White had called Steve in two weeks ago, with a pounding heart he had waited for the first official SEAL mission under his full command. And he got it, though not exactly in a way he was expecting.__

__A combined operation of the CIA and Navy's Special Forces to track, gather information and preferably capture alive two of the most wanted arms dealers, the Hesse brothers. The files of their previous, quite 'legendary' career within the IRA's troops are as detailed as the British SAS decided to make it, not really thrilled to fully cooperate with the US government. But having full access still wouldn't be enough information, because after the Good Friday Agreement in '98 Victor and Anton decided to develop a solo career, which unfolded greatly with all the contacts they had from previous IRA assignments, as well as with the growing number of radical groups all around the world, who seek for specialists of that kind. The last few years of their activity seem to be a big dark hole with a few spots they managed to find and connect.__

__It's a big case, Steve knows that. One that can end with a promotion, a set of ribbons and making this chaotic world a bit better. It can also be a disaster, for which no one will officially claim responsibility, but he, as well his whole team, can be stripped of all privileges and discharged.__

__A tricky game, which he hopes to win, even if he goes completely grey with irritation.__

__The malfunctioning program is definitely heightening that possibility right now, stubbornly denying him access, spluttering new reports on "wrong command". Granted, it's not the computer Steve usually works on, but it was the only one vacant as one of the three Intel officers is gone at the moment.__

__"Sir," often, when focused on something, Steve finds every interrupting voice to be slightly irritating, but Lieutenant Ciprianni's voice somewhat annoys him on a regular basis. He looks up at the Junior Grade, who once again sports that serious, yet snooty face, like he's actually better and wiser than anyone in the room. Steve appreciates assertiveness and ambitions, but passive disrespect for others, especially co-workers, is something he can't stand. Maybe that's why he can't force himself to like the man by any means.__

__"What is it, Lieutenant?" Steve huffs, tempted to ignore him, but it's still barely the third week of working with this team, so he saves the tactic of ignorance and avoidance for later, if it'll be needed.__

__"Maybe I could take a look at that, Sir," he steps forward from his spot beside a dark-skinned officer, who is equal to him in rank, yet he somehow seems to think of himself as the supervisor of the other two Intel officers, if not their commanding officer. Which he is not. He outranks only the ensign, who is absent at the moment and whose computer Steve has tried to use.__

__Steve glances at the officer Amale, who is focused on her work but also making an irritated face at the tone of Ciprianni's voice. It's obvious the man is not really liked amongst his co-workers.__

__With a reluctant huff, Steve steps away from the computer and with a displeased nod motions for the Junior Grade to take his place. Crossing his arms, he ignores Freddie's mutter and fixes his gaze on the screen, impatiently waiting for the windows to disappear.__

__It is not happening though, much to his annoyance. "You sure you know what you're doing, Ciprianni?" Steve glares at the officer, who starts smashing the keys with rising anger, muttering something under his breath.__

__"Uh, yes, Sir," the man frowns, typing a series of commands, which he was apparently sure would work, "It's just, huh, this program seems to be connected to another one, that is blocking the standard commands."__

__"Sir?" At the sound of a surprised, soft voice, Steve turns his head. The missing Ensign stands in the entrance with her hand still on the ajar door. She's shifting her gaze between him, the screen and Lieutenant Ciprianni's back. She's holding a colourful napkin in her other hand and her fingers clench tighter around it, crumpling the paper in a nervous gesture. Finally clearing her throat, she lets the door close with a click and steps forward, eyes never leaving the computer's screen. There's a flash in her brown eyes, a glint of a distressed emotion, which Steve first classifies as mere fear, but as he keeps his gaze focused on her face the veneer of fear transforms into... irritation.__

__Lieutenant Ciprianni turns around abruptly, hands clenching in fists in the apparent sign of anger rising up, influencing not only his stance, but also the tone of his voice, when he spits at the Ensign, "Rollins, have you tinkered with the analytic program?"__

__"No, Sir," her response is within the lines of regulation, but the timbre of annoyance is unmistakably audible. Steve picks up on it immediately, and so does Freddie, but the inquisitive Intel JG Lieutenant doesn't seem to notice, fixated on his own broken pride since he couldn't present himself as the brilliant one.__

__As Steve thinks of it now, it's not the first time Ciprianni is being thrown into the shadows by her. For the past two weeks since they first started working together, Ensign Catherine Rollins has proved herself to be really good at her work, quite brilliant actually - finding associations and the tiniest details quicker than the conceited Lieutenant. Which is probably one of the reasons for the man's aggressive tone, accusing her of being the only reason for his failure with the program.__

__"You clearly did," Ciprianni snorts coldly, gesturing quite violently at the monitor now cluttered with a dozen more blank boxes, "I have worked with that program since the time when you were still in the Academy. It's obviously hacked. Tell me one good reason why I shouldn't report you and demand an investigation as it appears to be highly suspicious case-"__

__"I'll give you one, Lieutenant," Steve, who has had enough of that tone, interrupts in a cold, firm voice. It's harsh timbre edging on the warning note, which immediately alerts everyone present, even Freddie. The usual tone Steve uses, even when barking out orders, is always faintly hinted with calmness, which seems to be dispersing abruptly now. It's not only the Junior Grade's misogynistic tirade, but he crossed the line and Steve has no intention of letting it slide.__

__Straightening, he towers over the seething man, "You're not in command here. Ensign Rollins and you, as well, are under my orders. Should I be reminding you of the chain of command? Because if I have to, it can be a really hard lesson. Do you understand?"__

__Paleness drains the colour from the man's face as he visibly cringes at the harsh threat. Turning fully to Lieutenant McGarrett, he stiffens and replies in required obedience, "Yes, Sir."__

__"I didn't hear you, Ciprianni. Do. You. Understand?" With his hands on his hips and a cold stare drilling through the Junior Grade, Steve reminds Freddie of a pissed off Commander White, which is actually a rather scary thought. Though he never even dared to disrespect Steve as his commanding officer, knowing well when to act like a subordinate, and in that moment he instinctively straightens.__

__"Yes, Sir!" Ciprianni responds loudly, his body now fully tensed, colour coming back to his face in a combination of embarrassment and anger. A juicy palette of thoughts, or rather names and curses, surges through his mind, but he grits his teeth. He'll vent it later, seething angry words to his fellow mates on the cockiness of that SEAL, who hasn't got the tiniest streak of a good leader in him, who - like all of those arrogant Special Forces brats - thinks of himself so highly, but has no brain or skill. And he'll make sure to get back at that disrespectful Ensign, when the opportunity comes.__

__"Good," Steve gives a short nod, "Now I need you to get me the satellite images of the South-Western border of Lebanon from 2000. Map all the potential bases as marked when observing activities and movement of RIRA and Hezbollah trainings."__

__The officer responds with a nod and sprints out the door as soon as Steve dismisses him. The silence stretches, filled only with the low humming of processors and JG Lieutenant Amale's steady typing. A twitch in Steve's jaw is barely visible, an imperceptible sign of the irritation still bubbling under his skin, not only directed at Ciprianni, but induced by the previous struggle with the computer. He grits his teeth, a frown creasing his forehead and he shuts his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose in an attempt to minimize the throbbing in his head. Taking a calming breath, which doesn't really help, he turns toward the Ensign.__

__"Rollins, is it?" he knows that's her last name, he always had a memory for names and faces, especially those with whom he works, nonetheless he waits for her nod, "Care to explain what the hell is wrong with that bloody program?"__

__"Nothing, Sir," she replies and he notices a glint of mischievous amusement in her eyes, but her tone stays respectful and impassive, "The newest version of it allows typing in one's own algorithms, for those who are granted the key code to the advanced options. It's a new improvement. I accomplished a special course three months ago, a joint training for the U.N." Her tone bears no pride or tone of boasting, speaking of a quite exceptional skill with modesty, referring to it only as an explanation of the current technical problem.__

__"Sir, if I may?" Catherine motions to the computer and quickly moves to sit in front of it, when Lieutenant McGarrett nods his permission.__

__Freddie sits on the edge of her desk, like before, when Steve was working on it, but now his body is leaning slightly in her direction, a crooked grin plastered on his face. He startles at the sudden smack to his head. Looking up at Steve, who's glaring at him pointedly, he flashes him a cheeky smile that makes Steve roll his eyes, before they both focus back on the Ensign.__

__Her slender fingers skim over the keyboard swiftly, but gently, barely making any typing sounds. She's familiar with those keys, trustfully playing on them like on an instrument known by heart, without glancing down to check her next move. It takes only a few seconds and the warning windows start disappearing one by one, less than a minute and the whole page is clear.__

__"There," she announces almost happily, quickly retracting to the official tone, "Um, Sir, it's clear now. Some programs are quite tricky, they don't cover everything at BUDs."__

__"I have used computers before, you know," Steve easily falls into a casual tone, his body visibly relaxing as he traces the woman's profile with his gaze. The twitch in the corner of her mouth doesn't go unnoticed, when she mutters under her breath -__

__"Downloading porn doesn't count."__

__The words are quiet, merely audible as a mumbled snort, but both SEALs hear it and it leaves them with open mouths. Freddie's quicker to react, covering his mouth with a hand and masking his laughter with coughing. Oh, this one will be a hilarious gem to tell the others, how Steve McGarrett was burnt with this Ensign's sarcasm. His green eyes flicker with mirth as he glances at Steve above the woman's head, finding his face dumbfounded. He's staring at the young officer, blinking in disbelief at what he had heard. While he could react upon the disrespect, the unexpected teasing tone behind her words provokes this inner, personal streak, a boyish side that is suddenly defensive, like a teenager that wants to impress a girl and maintain his reputation.__

__"Excuse me?" Steve arches his brows, but his tone lacks any harsh discontent. He crosses arms over his chest, puffing it a bit, but Catherine doesn't even look up at him.__

__"Wasn't saying a thing, Sir," she stays composed, looking innocent and shrewdly changing the topic, "I can run the analysis you wanted to start yourself, Sir. Based on the data you've entered, I take it we should search for a pattern or a link in the Hesse's activity in Lebanon."__

__As she was working on some part of the provided data yesterday, Cath had noticed a particular detail, but wasn't sure of its significance. It seems like a weak link, so far with no strong proof or further Intel to support this theory, and Ciprianni's aversion to report anything that hasn't been discovered by him discouraged her too. But he's not here at the moment and Lieutenant McGarrett's trail of thoughts seems to be similar to her own, so she isn't hesitating for long.__

__"Lieutenant," Cath turns her head, looking up at Steve, "If I may, before we proceed, I think I have found a link. But, to be honest, it might also be a blank shot."__

__It takes a moment for Steve to switch back to the main focus, shaking off the distracting one-liner that itched his tongue to respond. With a small jerk, as if to awaken himself, he changes his poise and with a prompting nod motions for Catherine to continue.__

__"Back in the 90's IRA was training some of the ETA cells, as well as working closely with Lebanese militias," she says while typing, the data displayed on the screen quickly changing as she writes next commands, "SAS had the list of camps, where they were supposedly training. At the South-Western border," which, she assumes, is why Lieutenant McGarrett asked for the satellite images of that terrain, "A few months ago, CIA reported seeing Anton Hesse on Lebanese soil. Their Intel suggests he's not only sealing gun deals, but also overseeing the training of small terrorists cells. Yet, when trying to find more about his whereabouts in the southern regions, he disappears. What I've noticed, while screening the data, is that in the past the Hesse's convoys always came from the border of Southern and Nabatieh Governorate. I think there might be a hidden base there."__

__Steve's gaze, focused on the monitor and the display of spots marked on digital maps, shifts back to the Ensign's face. He regards her for a second, taking in the pure concentration written on her face, a glint of determination in her eyes.__

__"Good," he nods, propping his hand on the desk and the other on the back of the chair she's sitting on, leaning his body forward to look closely at the data, "This might be the detail we've overlooked. But we need to know more, before making any move."__

__Straightening back, he lifts his eyes at Freddie, "Hart, get the guys for the run. And tell Hanna to report here. He's quite familiar with those territories, might provide some perspective for Ensign Rollins to cross-reference." With a regulation affirmative, "Aye, aye, Sir," Freddie is out the door in an instant. When they close behind him, Steve shifts his gaze to the officer, though he stays silent for a long moment, which evokes a slight nervous tremble in the tips of Catherine's fingers. She knows when she's being judged, but that's not quite the look he is giving her now. Nor is it one of the many attempts at checking her out that men sometimes try to charm her with. It feels like Lieutenant McGarrett is struggling with his own thoughts, not sure which approach to chose.__

__Shaking his head, as if to get rid of some portion of unexpected thoughts, Steve sticks to the formal, but a softer tone, "Keep it up, Rollins. And don't let Ciprianni's bullshit get you."__

__The corners of his mouth twitch, but a full smile doesn't appear. Unlike Officer Subira Amale, who is smirking at the memory of the short scene from a few minutes ago, which wasn't the nicest, but she can't help appreciating someone finally calling Ciprianni out on his disrespectful behavior. She leans slightly forward, peeking at Catherine from behind the Lieutenant's back and winking, which Cath pretends not to notice. But she does spy the twinkle in his eyes and it doesn't disappear even as he turns around.__

__Just as he reaches the door, he pauses with a hand on the knob, before glancing over his shoulder.__

__"Hey, Rollins!" he calls, making her turn suddenly in her seat in an alarmed stance. It lasts only a short second, but the full grin curves his mouth as he states, "I've worked in Intel."__

__Catherine can't help but smile back at him, barely restraining herself from laughter. With a nod she responds in as much official tone as she can, "Of course, Sir."__

__A chuckle escapes her lips, when the door finally closes behind Lieutenant's back, a chain of amused thoughts swirling in her head and making it hard to stop smiling when she tries to refocus on her work. Subira's interference does not help with that, as she stops her typing and turns fully to Catherine with a mischievous grin plastered on her face.__

__"If, by the end of this assignment, McGarrett doesn't ask you out, I will," an amused twinkle shimmers in Subira's dark eyes. To be honest, she's never been good at guessing who is attracted to whom, from her own experience she knows how tricky it is to assume the obvious and then be stunned at how wrong it was. Moreover, she knows Catherine is one of the last women in the Navy to fall for the charming smile of a guy at whom many throw their panties.__

__But she is definitely the kind of a person, -he- could fall for.__

__Cath tilts her head to the side, smiling at her friend, "Aww, but what would Brenda say?"__

__"We can make it an awesome threesome, if you're game," Subira's nonchalant shrug adorned with an awful eyebrow waggle makes Catherine burst out in laughter.__


	4. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **_I know it's been a while since the last update, for which I am sorry, but the past week was really hectic for me, had no time to finish the chapter. But I hope the length can make it up to you a bit - it's the longest mcrollins chapter/story I have ever written :)_

_Special double thank you to Trish, my amazing beta and friend, who not only edited over 4.6k of words, but supported me through the proces of writing; which this time looked a bit like fighting a dragon._

_To all my amazing reviewers - big thank you! Each of your opinions is important and valuable, you motivate me, as well help me improve my writing._

* * *

><p><strong><strong>Naval Station Pearl Harbor,<strong>****  
><strong>****Honolulu, Hawaii,******  
><strong>****September, 2010****

The cold pierces through him. The breeze, which somehow he remembers being much softer, prickles at his face like harsh needles. The scent of the ocean mixed with the fruity fragrance and flowery sweetness is somewhat familiar, prodding at his memory, muddling the emotions bottled inside with the shadow of safety this place once brought. Steve scans the surroundings, the palette of blue and grey displayed in the harbour, flecks of sunlight shimmering in the dark blue water. His gaze focuses on that white point, a cradle of light atop the spot of turquoise surface, which he knows so well.

Looking at the Arizona Memorial has always tugged on his heart, a flash of pride and longing which used to fill his boyish, innocent heart with determination and big dreams.

This time it evokes a surge of pain, a reminiscence of yet another lost piece of his life.

He has never met his grandfather. Stories and pictures have built only the image of a person who he hoped would be proud of him. Suddenly he becomes aware of a pattern that seems to be repeating itself, of boys having to grow up without their fathers. Though the circumstances of abandonment are different, it's a part of life and heart ripped out, leaving only thoughts of "what if". Steve got more time with his father than John ever had with his, but fifteen was still too young an age to be separated so brutally at, living for so long with grudges, never fully forgiving or rebuilding their relationship, only to have that chance erased completely now. Steve knows, maybe is aware of it more than most people, how quickly life slips through fingers and how fragile it is, every day engulfed in the shadow of potential threat. And yet he was so stubborn and reluctant to making the first move, to reach out.

Burden of guilt is settled within him, growing heavier and more bitter with each passing hour. The aftertaste of it will stay forever, but he hopes taking action, resolving the drawn out case of the Hesse brothers and honouring his father's death can diminish that encumbrance.

Fortunately, there's a spot of light in his life, a personalized warmth keeping him sane whenever he's close to losing it. And though all his determination is focused on taking action now, his thoughts so easily run towards Cath, missing her maybe more than ever before.

An unexpected, sudden inkling shoots through his mind. One of the chaotic voices, which he tries to tame for the sake of functioning and moving forward, brings out the pleading thought for that curse to be broken - for his kids to never experience anything like it.

It's a brief flash, only a second of terror that freezes Steve's body. A glimpse into a foreign realm, which they've been talking about, but the perspective feels so far away. And it's not a road he wants to follow right now with his thoughts - it's not the time or place to do so.

He shakes off the uneasy feeling, one of the many yanking at his insides, and turns around at the sound of a female's voice.

"Commander?" It's quite strange, hearing his rank being called in such a tone. Used to the official, rather cold version of it - bearing respect or scolding, or the purring timbre of Cath's voice, he's taken aback with a hint of something unsettling in the Governor's tone. Suspecting that his own impatience and annoyance had provoked that reaction, he pushes it aside as something exaggerated by his current emotional state.

"Governor," he greets her as politely as he can, considering that he was almost barking at her over the phone, not in the least interested in wasting his time for show-off gestures of condolences, which probably look great as a contribution to the veneer of the Governor's public appearance. A politician moved by the former police enforcement officer's death, pays her sympathy to his son, an awarded Navy officer - what a pretty headline, a moving public statement. The cynical part of him sees it as nothing more than that, a good show to attract attention, but he also knows there are people who are sincere with their condolences who, just like him, have lost someone important.

But as consoling as it is to know that many people truly cared for his father, Steve isn't ready nor is he in the mood to hear them out and let them offer consoling pats on the back.

He needs to focus and assess the progress of the investigation. Moreover, take a look at what the HPD had overlooked; not because they're incompetent, but for their standard procedure of treating it only as a murder. Which it is not. It goes beyond that border, being an act of terror, conducted and executed by one of the most dangerous men out there, in order to... __What?__

The question of what exactly Victor Hesse was aiming for haunts Steve constantly, filling almost every hour of his flight to Oahu with thoughts of possible motives - none of them being convincing enough.

"Thanks for agreeing to see me," Governor Jameson smiles at him in a manner that makes Steve want to end this conversation instantly. It's a perfectly mastered polite smile, but fake to the core, not reaching her eyes, once again reminding him why he prefers encountering armed men to politicians. The words "I am so sorry for your loss," which he has already heard a dozen times, only annoy him more. He definitely understands that in such a moment there is nothing "right" that can be said, and for people it's the only way of expressing their loss too. But it's too fresh, and he's too wound up, guided by guilt and anger.

One day he'll reach the point when it becomes sadness and longing, embraced and understood, Steve is sure of that, but not yet, not right now. Not before he finds some answers, or faces Hesse himself.

"Is this about the investigation?" Steve asks impatiently, hoping to at least reroute this possibly fruitless conversation towards a topic that might provide some minor information, useful or not.

"Yes," the woman nods, her tone changing into a more serious one now, which finally draws Steve's attention. His body tenses as his inner instinct tells him to prepare for the news he might find overbearing, "We have alerts across all the islands."

Steve barely restrains the snort itching to spit out of his mouth. The corners of his mouth twitch in a hint of a smirk combined with a grimace of annoyance.

He's never the one to judge or criticize procedures of different forces, knowing how often SEAL's tactics were under the pressure of people who thought they knew better. However, never before has he been in such a personal position, heavily involved in an ongoing hunt, which makes him furious with the disdain the people responsible for chasing Hesse here on the island have shown. In the police's perspective it's the right choice of action, efficient for catching a killer. Obviously though, they evidently seemed to have ignored the fact that Hesse is a vicious terrorist with contacts running deep underground.

"You won't find Victor Hesse with roadblocks and search warrants," Steve growls, losing his patience, "He's gone underground until he can find a safe way to leave the island." Maybe his mind and actions are provoked by the impulse of self-guilt searching for revenge, but standing here with the Governor and hearing about the poor attempts at catching the man responsible for his father's death, erases all the previous thoughts on letting the others handle that case. He just can't.

Any politeness disperses from his tone, which resounds with a harsh, icy timbre, "Now why am I here?"

The perfectly controlled outburst, audible in his tone but not the tiniest bit visible in any of his gestures, seems to be more threatening. With the way he restrains his body, keeping the bubbling anger and tension in, it's clear how dangerous he can be, not letting the opponent foresee his next move.

Governor Jameson presses her lips together, looking at the Lieutenant Commander in a hope to gauge his further reaction to her proposal, as it already seems he won't be very cooperative. But she needs him to be. Many years swimming in the political seas have equipped her with the skill of swiftly finding a good leverage point to motivate others to act the way she wanted them to, but with McGarrett it appeared that it would take more effort.

"I'd like to help you get what you came back here for," she aims for a direct approach, which she feels is what he appreciates more. Her hope for the place and emotions to cloud his alertness directs her next words, which - in all honesty - weren't planned. But she needs him on this case, therefore is ready to push the limits of her power. "Your father's death was a wake-up call to me and every law enforcement agency in Hawaii," the mention of John McGarrett evokes an instant flash in Steve's eyes, a clear reflection of determination, "Which is why I'm putting together a task force, and I want you to run it."

Steve isn't impressed with the proposition, it's unsettling and awakens a deeper level of alertness in him. There is a faint streak of temptation, a choir of enraged voices whispering how he could use that position to find Hesse, but he's cautious and repulsed by being involved in any kind of political charades. His motive is clear - he wants to find the man responsible for his father's death and find some sort of closure. But the agenda of the Governor's proposal goes beyond that, he's sure of it. Whether it is to make herself gain points in the upcoming campaign, or to stabilize the sudden breach of trust evoked by a terrorist running around the island, or maybe she has another ulterior motive - whatever it is, he won't participate in it.

"You don't even know me," he says coldly. If she's so adamant on starting a special task force, the choice of the leader should take more time. There are many people more suitable for that position, with more experience, skills, and connections.

"I know your resume," the Governor keeps her game without even flinching or backing down, aiming for praise and ego-boosts, which so often work in her favour, especially when manipulating men, "Annapolis. Five years in Naval Intelligence. Six with the SEALs. Your superiors say that you are the best, the best that they have ever seen."

Barely restraining a snort, Steve interrupts her in a snarky tone, "Let me stop you right there."

Listing his achievements is not the way to win him over, as Steve never was one to crave attention or collect ribbons to gloat. Even with his terribly competitive streak, winning is not something he boasts about for days after.

This chitchat is already getting on his nerves, but now he feels the limits have been pushed. It's quite surprising - Cath always finds it interesting - how a man who, among his skills, has the patience to stay motionless for hours when working the sniper rifle, but has a low level of patience when it comes to other situations, especially personal ones.

"I've been tracking Victor Hesse for six years," Steve points out, a little detail that definitely was not in his files, but is significant in order to talk some sense into the Governor, "If he was bold enough to surface, I promise you, he already has an exit strategy planned."

There are many things that could be said about the Hesse brothers, but Steve has never dared to underestimate either of their ingenuity. While Anton seemingly was the more reckless of the two, Victor always comes with at least two alternative plans. He has also learnt of Hesse's great counter-intelligence, which begins to terrify him the more he thinks about it. He has killed his father, there can only be worse from now on. Steve still has a family, even if for years it felt like he didn't. And if coming after his father was that easy, how much easier would it be to aim for his aunt, or his helpless sister?

Catherine... he can't even let that possibility slip into his mind, or he goes numb.

But one thing is certain, which the Governor, as well many people tracking him, forget. Victor Hesse is a very smart and even more dangerous man.

Steve looks sternly at the woman, ready to completely finish this fruitless play, "He knows I know it, which means I can barely afford the hour it's gonna take to bury my father, let alone stand here talking to you," as he brushes past her, he mutters a not very polite, "Excuse me."

"I can help you find this son of a bitch!" Pat Jameson calls after him, but he keeps on moving. Long, steady strides that slow down only when she follows him and the splutter of her promises irks him to the bone, "With full immunity and means. Your task force will have full blanket authority to go after guys like Hesse and get them the hell off my island."

When Steve stops and turns around, she doesn't notice the flare in his eyes, nor the twitch in his jaw.

"Your rules, my backing, no red tape," Jameson keeps pushing, weaving a basket of promises that could lure the power- or revenge-thirsty, "And I promise you, Commander, what you see with me is what you get."

"Here's what I see," Steve barks, his whole posture tense, "An election year coming up, and a politician who needs the PR, who's willing to do whatever it takes - including bringing me down here to Pearl Harbor, where my grandfather was killed, so I might feel some kind of obligation to fulfill my family's destiny. Is that about right, Governor?"

"I knew your father, Commander," the mention of John triggers the anger bottled inside of Steve. He clenches his fists and grits his teeth, as the woman adds in a concerned voice, "This is personal for me, too."

Steve stands adamant, "Pass." With forced politeness he accepts the card the Governor gives him and doesn't even look her direction, when she walks towards the awaiting car. The small card in his hand feels itchy, the temptation to just crumble it and throw it away so strong, but he grips it tight in his fingers, before sliding back into his pocket.

Once again he lets his eyes drift to the left, where the shimmering water turns from deep blue into more turquoise as the sunlight seeps through dispersing grey clouds. Steve has sunk into the deep waters all around the world, has seen all the shades of the seas and oceans, but the fragrance and colour of the water here seems to be so different. For sure it derives from the emotional connection he has to this place, all the childhood memories embroidered within him. He takes a deep breath, listening to the steady sound of waves and splashes. The urge to dive into the ocean and swim for hours, until his head is cleared of the chaotic thoughts, grows with each heartbeat, but there is no time for it. He doesn't even want to waste time for a quick shower in the hotel room he has booked, but after long hours of being on the move, he needs to freshen up and change clothes.

Before he turns around, ready to leave the base, someone's voice calls out for him in a warm, friendly tone, "Steve McGarrett."

Steve swiftly turns around, his gaze landing on a local man in a green T-shirt slowly approaching him. His dark eyes twinkle with sincere sympathy, smile lighting up his face. There's something about his face, as well the general posture and silhouette, that seems familiar to Steve. "I know you," it's a rare recognition, to remember someone's moves, so far it has happened only with his teammates, as he watched them fight and train so many times. The man before him is not Navy though, he's a local civilian, yet Steve can't shake the feeling that he has seen that face and observed his moves.

"You'd better," he cracks a smile at Steve, "Chin Ho Kelly."

"Chin Ho Kelly!" Steve beams up in an instant, a full smile spreading on his lips and _God_ it's so good to feel that kind of weightlessness for a second, being genuinely happy with the unexpected meeting. Not a forced one, but a simple coincidence, that brings a flash of good memories, reminding Steve that not everything that happened here was heartbreaking.

He reaches his hand out for a firm, but friendly handshake, corners of his mouth already itching from the smile that doesn't want to disappear from his face.

"You were a great quarterback," Steve's voice resounds not only with politeness, but also with a distinctive hint of fascination and excitement, with which he had watched Chin's football games back in high school, learning his moves and admiring his great determination. He remembers his first reaction upon learning that Chin was going to be his father's rookie partner - the mixture of admiration and tiny disappointment, because some part of his teenage dream-filled mind couldn't picture the great high school quarterback in any other role than that of a professional player.

"Oh, that's very kind of you to say," Chin chuckles, looking at Steve knowingly as he adds, "Considering you were the one that broke all my records."

It causes another grin to spread on Steve's lips, a sparkle of boyish pride.

"Oh, that was a long time ago," he shrugs, but the memory of the sounds of cheering and his friends patting him on the back after each game that they won still lingers. "I heard you became a cop," Steve's father mentioned Chin occasionally when they were talking on the phone, always with some forbearance, but the trust and admiration for his young partner were always audible in his voice. John McGarrett valued Chin Ho Kelly, which in an instant made Steve somewhat trustful towards the man.

"I worked with your father in the Seventh," Chin nods, his tone lowering, the timbre of sincere sadness resounding with each said word, but still bearing the awe and respect he had for John, "He taught me everything I know about wearing a badge."

Steve's gaze shifts, looking at their surroundings, as well as noticing Chin's outfit. "Looks like you moved on to greener pasture," he can't remember his father saying anything about Chin leaving law enforcement, then again John was never the one to be over-sharing. Well, not with Steve, anyway. Since being sent away to the mainland, Steve never fully regained the relationship he had previously shared with his father - some barriers were impossible to cross. Maybe because of his own stubbornness, or due to the fact that John became too cautious about telling him things.

"Well, let's just say, the Honolulu PD and I had a disagreement over my job description," If Chin is still irked by whatever has happened, he hides it well, not dwelling on the bitter past. There is gratitude in his eyes as he looks up at Steve, "But your father understood. He was very good to me after I was let go. He stayed my friend, and I know that cost him something." Not turning his back on Chin had cost John McGarrett many friends within HPD, as well as some connections, yet he never even blinked when standing in Chin's defence, with the loyalty and trust that Chin never got from his own family.

"I only wish there was some way I could pay him back," he sighs, gaze dropping to the ground for a second, before he lifts it up to look at Steve again, "But now that you're here, maybe you can do something."

"What do you mean?" Steve frowns, anxiety rising anew at Chin's words.

"I hear the chief of police put a haole and his rookie partner on your father's murder investigation."

* * *

><p><strong><strong>Sheraton Waikiki Hotel<strong>**

Steve's not the one to be doubting Honolulu Police Department's competence, or the skills of two detectives he has never met, but with the scoop he got from the Governor as well as the whole ordeal of the case it feels like the motives of people leading the investigation on his father's murder are highly suspicious. A haole cop might be really good at his work, but the island has its specific ways of approaching people, and something tells him a rookie partner doesn't have all the knowledge to help him with that.

It feels like Hesse's case was set to doom Steve's life from the very beginning. He walked into that dark storm, determined to reach its core and rip it from the ground. But with each step the ground became unstable, more and more beasts lurked at him and at people close to him.

The first blow of the gruesome encounter with Anton had imprinted itself on Steve and Catherine with such force, the helplessness he felt then, when watching Cath succumb into that awful state, still makes him flinch in fear. They worked it out, found their way back to the light and to each other, but whatever was connected to the Hesse brothers in the smallest detail has always impacted Steve in a way.

Physically - in the form of a few wounds he sustained, two scars still lingering on his body, as well as mentally.

The sound of his father's choked voice on the phone resounds in Steve's head whenever he closes his eyes. Focusing and distracting himself are currently the only actions he can take, because the longer he lets that momentum last, the worse it becomes. John's voice mixes with the echo of Steve's own yell, spliced with the muffled sounds of Freddie choking on his blood.

When Steve fell asleep on a plane for a brief hour, the horror displayed in his mind with the horrific carousel of recent and older events. In his dream he had tried to run into the house. He saw his father with a gun pointed at his head. His own heartbreaking yell slowly muted, until there was only sobbing, but it was not his. Cath was gripping at his bloodied BDUs, pale and terrified, her helpless whimpers choked into his chest.

Steve shakes his head abruptly, chasing the nightmare away. Once again he lowers his head, letting the mildly warm stream of water run down his back.

For a long moment he feels like staying there forever, under the shower, cut off from the whole world outside. It's confusing, how impatient and hectic he is, driven with the need to go to his house and start working on the case, at the same time wanting to crawl into the soft, comfortable bed and sleep through all this shit. Wait for Cath to come and ease that pain, which burns from the inside, demanding his attention.

But he can't, not yet.

Stepping out of the shower stall, he grabs a towel and dries off, not bothering with combing through his hair with anything but his fingers. As he walks into his bedroom, his eyes shift between the button-down lying spread on the bed and a small menu leaflet on the small table by the phone. The thought about any meal doesn't even cross his mind though, his stomach still tied in a knot, but in some silly way it makes him want to call Catherine.

He pulls on his pants and a T-shirt, before reaching for his cell and picking #1 on speed dial. He hadn't noticed how rapidly was his heart beating, until she answers and his pulse slows down in contentment.

"Steve," she greets him and though her voice betrays tiredness, she's happy to hear from him.

"Hi, Cath," he sighs, moving toward the window and looking at the vibrant colours of the island, "Did I wake you?"

"No. I was just being brainwashed," Catherine groans, but the alertness it evokes quickly subsides as Steve hears her soft chuckle, "Freddie made me watch some sports bloopers or... something of the sort. Whatever it is. I think I preferred him sedated."

Steve smiles at that, happy to hear her light tone and to know that his best friend is finally awake and goofy as usual. It doesn't take away all the guilt, it will still be there within Steve, whenever he thinks of how great of a SEAL Freddie was, and the fact that he won't be cleared for full active duty again. Maybe they can push him to train new frogmen, though Freddie always said he doesn't see himself in that role - probably scared to see Commander White's reflection in the mirror.

"How is he?" Steve asks, his smile fading as he thinks of his friend undoubtedly pale and weak, IVs attached to his arms.

"Good," she replies sincerely, "Tired and sore, but overall good. The surgery went really well, his vitals are stable, no infection. And his humour is rubbing off on the nurses, though I'm not sure if Kelly will be happy about it." There's a pause suddenly and Steve can easily picture Cath biting on her lower lip, gaze falling to the floor.

"I," she starts, taking a deep breath before continuing, "I haven't told him yet. About your dad," her voice quivers, the sadness and helplessness in it clenching Steve's gut. "I'm waiting for Kelly to get here," Cath clears her throat, suppressing the emotion, which resurfaces each time she lets that thought slip back in her mind, "Freddie needs to have her by his side."

For a long moment Steve doesn't say anything, once again overwhelmed with one of Catherine's thoughtful actions. He knows Kelly's presence is not only for Freddie's comfort, but for Cath's own as well, as the tragic loss had hurt her as much as it shattered Steve. She also knows there will be a hint of guilt, the natural reaction of any soldier who had taken part in an action gone awry. Having Kelly holding his hand, being safe in her arms, will slightly ease Freddie's worry, until the two friends will be able to see each other again.

The thought about his best friend and his wife makes Steve realize how much he misses Cath, part of him wishing to just wait for her arrival in that hotel room, so he won't have to face any of that alone.

"Catherine," he breathes out her name, relishing in the way it calms him.

"Steve?" there's worry and hesitation in her voice, but she waits patiently for him to say whatever it is, that chaotically clouds his mind.

"I just need you here," Steve closes his eyes, leaning his forehead on the cool window glass. The lights paint colourful mosaics on the inside of his eyelids and his mind forms it into detailed shapes - the azure star on Cath's nape; the prism cast by the light cracking in the diamond of her engagement ring.

She says his name again in that soft, tremulous voice, which was always followed by her body moving close, pulling him into safety of her arms. Being unable to feel that now is really hard for them both. So many times the distance between their locations had broken their hearts, demanding the strength and patience, but how long can they last like that?

"Um, I," Steve clears his throat, forcing himself back to focus, "I have to go Cath. Want to, uh, go by the house," he nervously rubs his face with his free hand, "And then the... morgue."

"Okay," she croaks out, "I will be there soon, Steve. The day after tomorrow."

"Good," though it still feels like too far away, "Gonna call you later, 'kay?" He smiles, hearing Catherine's __be careful __and - as always - promises her that he definitely will. It feels like her voice still resounds in his ears even after he disconnects. Taking another deep breath, Steve finally moves. Each of his steps feels heavy as he makes his way to the door.


	5. Chapter 4

**Author's Note. Please, read!**

A solid explanation is needed, I think, because I realized recently how misleading the summary of this story is. I apologize for that, as well for not explaining it in the author's note of the first chapter. We follow the events of Pilot and further plot of the show, but the Hesse plotline serves only as the leading thread, a background on which the main 'purpose' of this story is based - this is a Steve/Catherine story. Their history, struggles, the change they will face now in their lives.

I know some of you were reading this fic in hope to find a focus on the action and Steve's findings, so I understand if you decide that an emotional and psychological aspect of the characters as individuals, but mostly as a couple, isn't of your liking. Thank you for being with me so far.

To those, who love Steve and Cath as much as I do, and want to learn more about them, their past, also read how they adapt to the new situation - thanks for sticking with me! :)

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><p><em>Today's chapter is purely from Catherine's perspective, but I assure you in the next part there will be also Steve's side to the events - meeting Danny and his partner, hiring Chin, etc.<em>

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><p><strong>Naval Hospital,<br>Yokosuka, Japan,  
>September 2010<strong>

As the soft hand touches the bruised cheek, fingers gently tracing the faint scar across his temple before running upwards to comb through his sandy hair, Catherine's heart clenches slightly. Freddie and Kelly have always been very expressive about their feelings, like they were high on a sugary mixture of teenagers' passion and dramatic character. The tenderness and delicacy, which she witnesses now, is only a flash of the real intimacy, that no doubt is always between the two of them, but just kept in the shadow of loud laughter and even louder arguments.

The dainty endearment reminds Cath of warm skin underneath her own fingertips, the softness and contrasting ruggedness of Steve's stubble whenever she reaches out to touch his face.

It's an instinctive gesture, one she can't control and really doesn't want to. When they kiss and it becomes an attempt to both touch him and keep him in place, while he steals her breath away, or whenever she notices he's in distress and touches him in hope to provide the faintest sign of support.

Observing Kelly and Freddie in their emotional exchange, Kelly's tears as she cries from fear and relief, increases Catherine's impatience. A heavy feeling resides within her, filling her stomach with rock-hard bitterness, an itching under her skin to seek Steve's presence. She doesn't regret staying by their friend's side, but her thoughts are running towards Steve every few minutes and it's not something she can help. The need to finally land on Oahu, to find herself in his presence, becomes more and more of a selfish wish. She wants to be there for him, to give the support in whatever form he will want it, but a part of her needs him as much, maybe more.

Scraps of past experience flash through the bits of current events, whenever she heard Steve's voice during those few short phone calls since he landed in Hawaii, it made her realize he was barely holding up.

The adrenaline and determination keep him going, and her love for him keeps her from falling apart.

Catherine isn't one to pretend she's not shattered, but choosing a moment to let herself break down is a cautious process. Years in the Navy taught her to be tough and to grit her teeth, and only a few places felt safe enough to strip down of all the barriers. Steve's closeness always serves as a safety blanket, into which she easily falls, letting his arms hold her as each ounce of pain pours out.

It has been that way even before they became a couple, a part of her mind coded itself into finding his warmth and smelling the only thing that can protect her. At first she tried to cope on her own, but every part of her body craved Steve's presence, whispering that without him she'd die, which made her panic even more then the sudden streaks of anxiety hitting her out of nowhere. However the logical part of her brain knew it derived from those horrific three days outside of Salhani, she was fighting it with all her might, which only made things worse.

It took a few angry sessions with her therapist, before Catherine accepted it, and even more time before she spoke to Steve about it.

Over the years she had slowly rebuilt her previous confidence, the self-assurance that she doesn't need anyone apart from herself to face some of the fears and tough situations. She had to, their paths weren't always crossing, actually got suddenly separated, leaving Catherine for over six months in the terrible pit of cold sweat waking her up at night, greeted each morning with hands trembling for no reason, jumping up in her seat in the safe, quiet room just because she thought she had heard a faint echo of gunshots. Clawing at her own legs to shake herself of the panic, her thoughts instinctively ran to the strong arms that held her close on that terrible day. There's a picture of Steve on her phone, a silly one taken by Billy, who used the idea of taking their pics as an excuse to write his number into her contact list. If the panic became overbearing to the point where she felt like her spinning mind is being trapped within a paralyzed body, she'd look at the picture, trying to focus on the memory of a rapidly beating heart in his chest, to which she was pressed, when he shielded her with his arms.

It wasn't a magical cure, and it did not always work, but it evoked a sense of safety that has helped establish other ways of coping. The disbelief over how much the situation has changed, the tables being turned on them, still surprises her as she realizes that for years, since their friendship and support bloomed into passion and love, it is her that is an anchor to Steve.

With the current situation, though, they will have to balance it out, both of them needing the other to be strong, at the same time wanting to crumble. He needs it more, she knows it, having just lost his father in the most awful way, blaming himself for it to the agonizing extinct. But there are moments when the echo of panic, which she has hoped to have shed years ago, resurfaces. A second, when looking at Freddie's wounds brings back another sight of blood spilled, wide dead eyes staring at her frozen in horror, and she barely restrains herself from curling on the floor in a mess of trembling sobs. Still driven by adrenaline, but most of all by determination to be strong for Steve, to be there for him when he needs to let it all out, she holds up. Knowing that at some point, maybe in a few weeks, when the first wave of grieving falls down, she will have to tell him.

Though maybe she will only be voicing out what Steve already suspects. So often it is apparent how well she knows him, but he knows everything about her by heart, so easily reading her, sensing when she's troubled.

Without a word she slips out of Freddie's room, so that he and Kelly can have a long private moment, which they clearly need, and to catch a break on her own. She needs to occupy herself, get her hands on something - maybe a cup of coffee or some meal, so her fingers won't itch their way into her pocket to reach for the phone. It's been over sixteen hours since she spoke to Steve and she knows that it can only mean he got himself onto something, on Hesse's lead probably. Which is good, but it also worries her. However reckless Steve might seem occasionally, now driven by his anger and despair, she's not afraid of him doing anything stupid - he always knows his abilities, as well boundaries. But it's the emotional impact of it all that makes her impatient for her flight.

The soft, cheery noise that fills her ears distracts Catherine from her thoughts, for a second surprising her with the light space in which she suddenly found herself.

The hospital cafeteria looks clean and pleasant, so different from all the other hospital dining areas she has been to. There are not many people around, mostly patients and their families, a few members of the staff by a table in the far corner. The tempting smell of fresh coffee makes her inhale deeply, drawing her attention to the glass counter, behind which a set of great coffeemakers spreads the delicious scent. Cath makes her way over there, hand already reaching to her purse for her wallet.

A soft cling resounds as she rummages around the bottom and something small rather sharply-edged falls into her hand. She retrieves it, fingers tightly clasped around the coral starfish key ring, two keys hanging on it.

An abrupt swirl of emotion washes over her, evoking a longing for the smell of ocean and peonies. Every time she holds these keys, a smile appears on her face, thoughts of home filling her mind with colourful splashes of not many, but so meaningful memories. This time there's a dull ache, a shade of sadness coming from the scary feeling that they will have to abandon it. It's too early to be even thinking about possibilities, if Steve would want to sell his father's house, or if he suggests they actually move there, because he can't just get rid of it. She loves their house in Coronado, a small space, which they haven't really had the time to fully enjoy, but it's not the place that makes it a home. It's Steve's presence, their pictures, that little sign on the wall.

She is reluctant to accept any change, especially a very sudden one, but there is no possibility of not following Steve anywhere he goes. He is her home.

Cath tosses the keys back into the handbag, retrieving her wallet this time and ordering coffee. A smiling woman in minty green uniform asks if she wants a freshly baked pie, but Catherine doesn't feel like eating anything. She picks a small table in the corner next to the entrance, sitting down on the plastic chair with a sigh.

Tracing her fingertips up and down the paper cup, she lets her thoughts twirl in a chaotic maze for a few minutes, before she finally takes a big sip and uses the boost the strong, caramelized flavor provides, to focus. She won't be of any use, if she lets the fears and emotions take over her now. Steve operates on certain trained modes, but so does she and it's time to switch to the analytical part of her brain.

One is certain, Victor Hesse had had to arrive on Oahu earlier, before Steve and Freddie got to North Korea.

It's not a brilliant discovery, anyone could get to the same conclusion knowing the basic facts. The raid of questions as to why he was there is a problem she tries to disassemble, looking for clues and possibilities. Hawaii's criminal side is known for its ties to the Yakuza, which could easily be the reason for Hesse's presence there. But him using the opportunity to track down Steve's father, when someone tipped him off about his brother's abduction, seems like a fishy, disjointed theory.

Catherine tries to fight the most logical, yet cruel idea that forces its way into her mind, that Hesse was on Oahu for one reason solely - to kill John McGarrett.

The veneer of personal grudges serves as a believable background, after all Steve was designated to hunt the Hesse brothers down. With all the contacts and informants Hesse has, Commander McGarrett's identity was possible to obtain. Retaliation is a plausible motive, easily feeding the authorities as well as Steve's CO, a quick and neat smokescreen, secluding the real motive.

The more Catherine thinks about it, the more sure she becomes of an ulterior motive. All these years when Hesse had the opportunity to strike at Steve in any way, why now and why attacking his father? John McGarrett might have been an older man, but definitely a target harder to hit than someone else also close to Steve. Killing John was also a trigger certain to push Steve into chasing Hesse with the most vicious ferocity, it would not be a blow making him step down.

John had to be the target all along.

The thought seems surreal at some point, no logical explanation for any connection between John and Hesse's gun-dealing empire, at least for now she can't seem to come up with any. But she also can't pretend it's not probable.

She stirs suddenly as the buzz vibrates on her thigh, ringtone turned down to the minimum volume, resounding from her pocket. Taking a quick gulp of coffee to moisten her throat, Cath picks up her phone, eyes drawn to the screen in hope to see Steve's goofy face on it. The picture is different and the name attached to it invokes a wave of sadness, edging on nervousness.

Clearing her throat, Cath finally answers, her voice hushed as she smiles sadly, "Hey, Mary."

A phone call she had made to Steve's sister almost two days ago was more awful than she had expected it to be, filled with tears and Cath's soft voice trying to provide any kind of comfort, though it was futile. The most hurtful was the lack of surprise in Mary's voice upon the fact Catherine was calling her to break the news, not her brother. Two years ago, Catherine would have expected Mary to burst out, hang up on her even, but Mary had gone through a lot, made an effort to change herself and change the relation between her and Steve. The hint of disappointment in her tone was audible, but it dispersed into the concern with which she asked how Steve is holding up.

"Catherine, hey," Mary's voice is tired, timbre of tears still perceptible and Cath can easily imagine that similar posture the McGarrett siblings share - with head hung low, one hand rubbing on the nape of her neck, eyes closed. "Am I interrupting anything?" she asks, forcing a chuckle, but it fades quickly, just as Catherine's smile upon that. A couple of times in the past Mary had chosen rather bad moments to call.

"No," Cath replies, "I'm having a little break at the moment. God, I can't remember the last time I drank such good coffee."

"Last July," the next words they say in unison, with a dreamy sigh of longing, "Double kahlua frappe."

Their soft mirth tingles for few seconds, a blissful blink of a moment taking them back to one week in July 2009, when all three of them had gone to Hawaii. It is weird, having thought not more than a month ago about the possibility of spending this year's Christmas together, inviting John and Mary to Coronado, but now facing this tragedy.

A deep sigh draws Cath's attention back to the present, making her tense instinctively, bracing herself for the words, which she honestly hoped not to hear from Mary, but she knows she also expected them at some point. It is a conflict between wanting to be supportive of Mary, but also needing to make everything in her power to help Steve feel like his family hasn't crumbled into pieces and he still has his sister beside him. Catherine knows the situation isn't easy for Mary, with her fragile, barely rebuilt grasp on life, but she has hoped for her sister-in-law would take that step.

"Catherine, I can't come," Mary croaks out, "I, uh, I mean I will, but I can't be there for the funeral. It's just..."

"Have you talked to your doctor?" Cath asks softly, knowing all too well how sometimes doing the simplest things is impossible, more so the challenge of attending a father's funeral. She's not sure how Steve will be able to go through it, but she intends to stick to his side.

"Yeah," comes the answer, "He suggested I try facing it, considering, you know, that I have support of Steve and you. And, eh, he's probably right about me not making full closure, if I'm not there, but... I can't. It's not about being there for the funeral itself, but everything that comes with it."

"People," Catherine nods to herself, corner of her mouth twitching in a sad smile upon another trait the siblings share.

"People," Mary admits, "I'm not ready to deal with all of dad's friends looking at me, wondering and asking questions, where I've been, what I'm doing. It always feels like they judge us, me and Steve. For not being there for dad. Steve at least has an excuse, being Rambo, saving the world," she jokes faintly, "My life is none of their business, but unfortunately I'm not as polite and skilful at dismissing people with a smile, like you. So... I will come a day or two after the funeral, to-" there's a long pause and Catherine's free hand clenches around the coffee cup as she hears the stifled sob, "To say goodbye to dad. And to be with Steve."

"I understand," and she does, even if there is a part of her that's irked, not angry at Mary, but the situation that put both of them in this position, "And Steve will understand it too. Just call us whenever you're ready and we'll arrange a flight for you."

There's no point in asking if Mary can book her flight on her own, her current job allows her to live in a small, cozy apartment, but it's doubtful Mary has enough saved to buy a ticket to Hawaii. Besides, Steve wouldn't let his little sister use the money, not now when she wants to save up to go back to college. They talk for a few more minutes, Cath listening intently to Mary's brief description of her new meeting group, in which she clearly finds herself better than with the one in the facility. Cath's coffee is cold by the time they disconnect, but she sips it slowly, waiting for the agitation to subside. Peeking at her phone every few seconds, as if waiting for it to miraculously display Steve's face on the screen, she finishes the drink, cringing at the last gulp that comes more bitter than anticipated.

Long minutes pass before she decides to head back to Freddie's room. Peeking at the plates with slices of freshly baked pies, Cath considers buying one for Kelly, but decides against it. Being pregnant, who knows what Kelly eats at the moment, if the smell of pie won't cause nausea. A bitter taste rolls on Cath's tongue and she swallows hard as the sudden pang of jealousy hits her. Out of nowhere, seemingly without any reason, but it spreads through her in a fast wave, making her rub nervously at her wedding band.

Quickly pushing it aside, Catherine tries to refocus her thoughts on the association map she had begun creating in her head in an attempt to draw a scheme of Hesse's possible connections and motives.

Her fingers itch to take the phone and dial Steve's number, partly to share her findings, but mostly because of worry. Sometimes there are weeks when they can't even hear each other, but now her concern is doubled due to the circumstances. Steve is alone out there, no team to support him, no gear, no liaison that could get him out of the storm.

Cath keeps her fingers close to her pocket, brushing it every few seconds and clenching her hand in a fist, to stop herself from reaching for the phone, but finally caves in. She had been about to call him in a few hours anyway, to inform him of her flight and to ask if they will be staying at a hotel, or if he is ready to sleep at home. Fingertips tap on the screen nervously, still hesitating to make the call. She stops in her tracks and changes her direction, turning to the left instead, into the quiet long hallway leading to the radiology department. Sitting down on the plastic chair, she presses number one on speed dial and takes a shaky breath.

It's surprising how quickly Steve picks up, his voice quite cheery, though she can easily sense the tiredness in it. "Catherine," he rasps her name out and she can't help but smile at the sound of happiness in his tone.

"Hello there, Sailor," she greets him, for a second the usual, playful tone so naturally taking over, "Am I interrupting anything?"

"Not at all," he assures her, "We're at Pearl at the moment, a short stop, before pursuing the lead we got."

"We?" The word instantly draws Catherine's attention, she's not sure yet if the plural number alerts her, or if she's actually not really surprised, "Did you drag some of your SEAL buddies to Oahu?" He is capable of doing that, although more likely it would be because they would follow their leader and friend to any hell, but this is too personal for Steve. The need to do it by himself, not risk anyone else's life, is too strong and mixed with his stubbornness she really doubted he'd let anyone do it with him.

A faint chuckle precedes his reply, "No. I mean my-" there's a sudden pause, as if he realized it's a news he hadn't yet told her about, "Uh, my team."

"Team?" Cath straightens in her seat, "What team? Steve?" A deep sigh follows and he begins to tell her. Quickly, not getting into too many details, but stating the most important parts. There will be time to let her in on everything, once she lands in Oahu.

Steve doesn't hide the annoyance towards the Governor, describing how she approached him and tried to manipulate him, and when he mentions the reason why he gave in, it is said with a hint of sheepishness. He had been in his father's, _his own _house, when two HPD detectives drew their guns out on him. Theoretically he was trespassing and invading the crime scene, but he would not have had the need to if the police did their job properly and listened to his suggestions. The two detectives that stormed into the garage didn't want to listen, and well, maybe him pointing a gun at one of them had been a bit provocative, but Steve isn't used to backing down so easily. Especially not a mere minute after discovering an old red box, which holds some kind of key to this whole mess. The sound of his father's last words, calling him a champ, had resounded in his head with a force of a thunder, when he spotted the rusty sign on the tool box. Detective Williams and his partner Meka Hanamoa were persistent in their demands for Steve to leave the box, which was not negotiable. So he had reached out for the solution - a phone call to the Governor.

Steve's voice is firm and light, a distinctive hint of determination is audible, when he tells her about Chin Ho Kelly and the hope on getting any word from his informant, but it quivers slightly with his last words, a thought on which he really hasn't pondered at all yet, "Cath, I... I think it's just temporary. The task force, I mean. I don't want to leave the Navy, it's-"

"It's okay, Steve," she assures him in that soft voice, which never was judging, aside from the times when she accused him of purposely touching her butt during the briefing. "You had to do what was best at the moment, adapted to the situation," she has no idea what can become of that, or whether it develops into a twist that changes their lives even more so, but Catherine knows he hadn't put much thought into it and now isn't the time to press him about it, "Once you get Hesse, it will be clearer what the next step should be. You can then let the Governor find someone else in your place, or..." she pauses, it's confusing, being just told he became the leader of a special task force, something they have never really considered. There were talks about future possibilities, transferring to a more permanent place, preferably Coronado, but _that _scenario, understandably, never came up.

"Anyway," Cath changes her tone, a light chuckle escaping her lips, "You threatened two police detectives with a gun, then took the case away from them by calling the Governor, _and _hijacked them into your team? God, Steve, you never were good at first impressions."

"I made a good impression on you," she's sure he's grinning right now, and her heart flutters, happy that at least for a second she got his mind off the burden to which he has to get back soon.

"Apparently I have low standards," Cath snorts. A tinkle of mirth resounds on the line, a distant hum of waves in the harbor, mixing with the hospital's noises, fills the silence as they both smile.

Catherine is the one to break the comfy bubble, her voice cracking when she returns to the core of the problem, heavy bitterness bubbling up inside her as she tries to form her thoughts into coherent sentences. "Steve, I was actually calling, because I think the whole case..." she leans forward with a sigh, propping her elbows on her knees and rubbing her temple nervously, "Retaliation is a facade. I think Hesse was after your dad all along, it had nothing to do with you."

There's a dead silence, pierced by a sharp intake of breath, abruptly rising Cath's worry and guilt for burdening him with additional heaviness. "Sorry," she whispers, "I shouldn't drop it on you right now, I don't even have access to the evidence..."

"No, Cath," he interrupts her quickly, "I think you're right. It's... I can't think of any reason now, but dad was on to something. There's a box full of stuff he was working on. Actually," Steve pauses and she can hear shuffling, like he's changing his position and place, walking away from possible eavesdropping. "Actually, I could use your skills," he admits and there's a hint of longing in his tone, but the seriousness of it tells Catherine he really means her Intel abilities, not only her presence.

"Wheels up in eight," she says with an impatience and relief at the same time, it seems too long to wait, but it is also soon, "But if you want, I can try contacting someone at Pearl and ask for a favor."

"Thanks, but for now I prefer to keep it just between the two of us," this time it's not the fragility of his natural trust taking over, he has too many reasons and suspicions to allow anyone come close to that box.

Catherine nods, even though he can't see her, speaking up only few seconds later, "Of course."

"Cath, I-" she doesn't let him finish, recognizing the disappointment and sorrow in his voice, which she knows so well. It means they have to end the call, and no matter how long they've been speaking, it's never long enough.

"Have to go," Catherine finishes for him, smiling balefully, "I know. Will see you really soon. Tomorrow," a hint of excitement slips into her tone when she says that word, as if it's a long awaited date. The fear of outcomes John's murder can evoke rises higher, now mixed with the uncertainty of the future, which always was a little foggy for her and Steve. Navy was their constant, they have learned to built their lives around it and include it along the far steps of their planned family future, but this whirlwind of events threatens that stability. For now the most important is for them to go through it, for Steve to make amends and find Hesse. The rest, well, they will face it together for sure.


	6. Chapter 5

_Sorry it took so long! The time wasn't on my side for the past weeks, unfortunately. Also my lovely beta, Trish, is now facing a big challenge of starting her uni life. Good luck with that, cupcake! :) And thank you for still finding time to check my writing. _

_So please, don't mind the long time you sometimes have to wait for chapters, I know it can cause impatience, but I assure you this story won't be abandoned in the middle :) _

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><p><strong>Wailoa Shave Ice,<br>Oahu, Hawaii,  
>September, 2010<strong>

Steve's grip on the colourful cup tightens, the fingers of his left hand tapping out of rhythm on the Camaro's side mirror, before he moves them to his side. The periwinkle coloured fabric of the T-shirt is crumpled in his fist. Having to wear a silly, too-large piece of clothing isn't the reason for the fidgety movements, which he quickly tames, instinctively regaining control over his body, so any of his twitching muscles won't betray his inner state. It's not the worst thing he has ever worn – there is a small, unsanitary bar somewhere in a corner of Tijuana, where there may or may not be some pictures of SEAL team members dressed up in the most ridiculous of outfits, including one tall shepherdess with tattoos peeking from underneath the yellow sleeves of her dress...

No, the promotional T-shirt with the giant head printed on it doesn't make him feel uncomfortable, it's the impatience bubbling inside. As much as he knows that each step that takes him closer to Hesse should be taken cautiously, the risk of the situation turning around and hitting him with an unexpected twist of events is too high, especially having a smart and resourceful terrorist as his opponent.

Determination and skills are on Steve's side, and there are many details which might play to his advantage, but on the contrary, could also make him fail miserably.

Knowing the island's general rules is one thing, but he's been gone too long and doesn't have the connections, which Hesse definitely has.

Reaching for Chin Ho Kelly's assistance was the only logical idea that had come to his mind, even if it seemed to have offended the two detectives whom Steve had abruptly incorporated into the task force – which he barely established hours ago over the prompt phone call. Steve is trained to make quick decisions, in the midst of action there is no time to pick on the tiniest details of possible outcomes.

Based on his instincts, experience and quick assessment, his decisions as a leader have always excellently balanced the needs of fulfilling the mission and keeping his men safe. This time, however, the goal is his main focus. Since landing on Oahu, getting Hesse had become the sole motive for his actions, even though a part of him knows it's a risky obsession, which he should tame for the sake of his own safety. There may be many things said about him, Steve knows, but being accused of recklessness is one of the most offensive. He would never endanger anyone beside himself - and risking his own life isn't the easiest choice, his devotion and selflessness so often in conflict with the need to get back safe to someone, who waits for him.

As he stands here, leaning on the shiny Camaro, the voices of his companions reaching his ears, he becomes aware that he has pulled people into the mess with him.

Which changes the situation again.

The decision to take up the Governor's offer was an impulsive one and he knows it. Too many unpredicted side effects come from it, he has begun to realise, but the more time he spends with them, the harder it dawns on him. What was supposedly the chase after his father's murderer, and for the detectives it's solving the case, can so easily go sideways, putting so many innocent lives in danger.

Steve glances at the two men beside him, one fidgeting nervously and pulling hard at the Kamekona's Shave Ice T-shirt, like it's the most uncomfortably itchy fabric in the world and it eats through his skin.

Detective Danny Williams, Steve has begun to notice, is quite vocal when it comes to expressing his current emotional state. At the first small rant he has heard after kind of hijacking the two of them into his non-existent team, the veneer of it being too loud and exaggerated faded. Sure, the demeanor is rather strange to Steve, himself being more closed and silent, but he begins to understand the system of this expressive habit Williams holds.

Partly, it reminds him of Freddie who, like Danny, wears his heart out on his sleeve, giving not only his full mind's focus, but also experiencing things with his whole heart.

However whiny Williams seems to be though, the details Steve picked up from checking his files and listening to him and his partner's, Meka, conversations indicate that Danny Williams just misses home. He moved to Hawaii for his daughter, the apple of his eye, but he left his whole life on the mainland. Probably losing friends, limiting contact with his family, abandoning his work and all the dreams he had, are understandably reasons enough to being a little less than happy with the sun-soaked islands.

Being interrupted in his work by a stubborn victim's son could easily annoy any police officer; if Steve was on the other end of that dynamic, he would probably have handcuffed and arrested himself. But he hasn't got the comfort of putting himself in someone else's shoes, the heaviness of guilt and resolve pushing him forward, constantly reminding him of time ticking away. He has been tracking and chasing Hesse brothers for many years now and knows how easily they can slip through fingers, all the connections to the underground crime world providing them with the best possibilities of escape under the radar, then hiding in a rabbit's hole.

Stepping through the door of his old house had been the hardest move he had to make in recent years. There was a time, about four years ago, when he had been nervous going down that cobbled path from the pergola by the gate to the porch. His palms sweaty then, steps slow and reluctant. It was the feeling of slender fingers entwined with his, that kept him from running away.

Back then he was still full of anger and resent toward his father, and going back home for a visit made him nauseous. The crisp memory of the awkward and somewhat cold first few hours that now feel like time wasted, when he could have been reconciling with his dad instead of questioning him. They had made it better, slowly working on reconnecting, at least on some level, but it wasn't enough. Steve had spent so much time being angry at his father, unable to forgive him, and now it is too late. His grip on the cup tightens at the flash of the memory of a cold door handle beneath his fingers, when he entered the house hours ago. Silence had filled every corner, echo of memories thronging with each careful step he took inside, then a sudden scream had pierced his mind - the recall of his own yell upon the sound of a gunshot.

Steve was driven by a myriad of emotions, edging on desperation prompted by helpless virulence. Confronting him at that moment with the sole intention of pushing him away from finding the truth, resulted in him reaching for any means that would get him on the case.

Maybe it was a trigger that set the forward march mode on, not only making him sign the deal with the devil, but aggrandising the focus and determination, which drew forth the leader SEAL inside of him.

Hijacking two detectives – Catherine had been right to use that term, as it couldn't be described differently – for the purpose of this temporary special task force, both by tempting them with the promise of finishing the investigation they had started, as well not giving them much choice in the matter, has provided him not only with the information, but also back up, which he really needs. So the little shootout that happened hadn't been part of the plan, but it also didn't surprise Steve. Chasing Victor Hesse is bound to include a multitude of threats, gunfights included. However bad he felt for the graze wound Williams suffered, he's not used to focusing so much on injuries, especially minor ones.

With each step of this investigation Steve realizes how many differences there are between the military service and the police. Their service is dedicated to protecting and saving people, and no doubt the sacrifices they are ready to make are equally big, but there is a line separating them.

A line which the detectives here see as recklessness and unnecessary risk, while Steve and all the men he has served with just grit their teeth, pushing forward, because there are no regulations when you're on foreign soil, bruised and battered, with not only your life at risk, but also shouldering the responsibility of protecting so many others' lives, in places where even nature seems to be against you.

Steve is jerked back to reality feeling a pair of curious eyes drilling into him. It's a kid, with a gigantic stick of pink cotton candy bigger than her head, but while most of the kids would stuff themselves with the sweet, she just holds it, more interested in staring at him.

"Are you a cop?" the girl asks in a tone that is more inquisitive than excited, both her question and behaviour surprising Steve and making him a little speechless.

He glances at his companions, the two detectives grinning widely from not that far away, like they're enjoying this little display. Both smiles are genuine, not only the flicker of teasing upon seeing Steve's dumbfounded face, but a flash of soft happiness that any interaction with children normally brings.

"Uh, no," Steve answers, offering a small, slightly uncomfortable smile, which unfortunately isn't reciprocated as the girl tilts her head and watches him even more intently. Her response that he looks like a cop elicits chuckles from Meka and Danny, while Steve huffs in defeat. Scratching the back of his head, he tries to find a way to gently get rid of the curious kid. Interacting with children isn't scary for him, even if he never got much opportunities to spend time with kids, but they're in the middle of investigation and his impatience triumphs over his soft spot that on any other occasion would result in him actually getting into the conversation with the girl.

"Do you like cotton candy?" Meka bends down slightly to meet her eyes, smile spreading on his face as he points at the big ball of sweet cotton.

"I don't like it," the girl shrugs, her eyes drifting back to Steve and squinting slightly as she tries to stare the tall man down. Beside her, Meka presses his lips together, stifling a chuckle and looking somewhat sympathetically at McGarrett.

Before Steve opens his mouth in an attempt to shoo the girl away, his eyes scanning the surroundings in search of the kid's guardian, Danny comes to his rescue. He reaches through the Camaro's open window and struggles to withdraw something big and fluffy from the backseat. Soft, pink fabric tickles Steve's neck, when the man manoeuvres the enormous stuffed rabbit. "I got something you might like, okay?" he hands the girl the fluffy toy, which not only draws her attention, but instantly brightens her face with a smile.

They watch as she hops away with the bunny, excitedly showing it to some other kids a few yards away, before Steve turns his head, brows rising as he looks questioningly at Danny. "You drive around with stuffed animals on a daily basis?" he asks, the corners of his mouth twitching. The logic cued that the toy was meant for Danny's daughter, about which Steve had learned earlier on that day in a brief conversation, while the three of them had waited for Chin at Pearl. Still, he doubts all dads have teddy bears stuffed in their cars just in case.

On the other hand, he remembers some of Mary's frogs always stacked in the backseat of their car, when they were kids.

"Laugh it up, it saved your ass," Danny shrugs and smiles at the face of slight embarrassment on Steve's face, "Don't worry, man. Sometimes my own daughter catches me off guard. Kids at that age are really curious."

"True," Meka nods, standing up, "Though, it was quite amusing to watch you tense under the girl's gaze," he adds, grinning. Tilting his head slightly, he looks at McGarrett, taking in his whole posture and all the gestures and impressions he had made on them for the past twenty hours. "Not much experience with kids, huh?" It's not really obvious, being a SEAL doesn't necessarily mean the man has had no interactions with children, but the impression that's been painted for the past hours does make it seem so.

"Not many opportunities," Steve shrugs, peeking over his shoulder in hope to finally see Chin approaching with the needed information.

He can feel both men eyeing him and tries to ignore it, knowing this kind of curiosity brings up personal questions, which always makes him close up and withdraw. The memories of many casual conversations in the difac, where people were sharing laughs and shards of stories about their families, flashes in his head, along with the pang of uneasiness and sadness it always brought, whenever one of the questions was directed at him. Steve knows they meant well, wanting to know him, but some barriers he couldn't get past, especially not with people he barely knew.

"Are you one of those sailors?" Danny takes a mouthful of ice as he asks, and while the question itself sounds judgmental, irking Steve a little, the tone, as well Williams' face, are not accusing.

"One of _those_?" Steve frowns, reluctantly focusing his gaze on the blond man, who is swaying on his heels.

"With a girl in every port," he makes a wide gesture, which, Steve has noticed, is something that Williams does a lot. "No commitment, or stability. Ongoing adventure," Danny glances at his partner, Meka, who now stares at him with a disapproving look, "What? No offense, really. I'm just wondering. Not everyone is made for marriage and there's nothing wrong with that."

At the last sentence Steve wants to burst out laughing. Not being made for marriage was never a trait he would pin on himself, even when years back some people thought the exact same thing. A lack of overly excited or loudly expressed interest in starting a family didn't mean those thoughts had never crossed his mind.

A wedding ring and a wife, whose presence he longs for, are proof enough.

He could easily smirk right now and call Williams out on his big mistake, but he keeps an impassive face. His thumb instinctively rubs on the inner side of his ring finger, where the gold band should be placed. So often he misses the feeling of it wrapped around his finger, but he takes it off whenever he's on a mission. Steve's thoughts drift to that small pouch hidden in his duffel bag, the velvety fabric scented with sea, tiny grains of sand still on the bottom of it. The shining ribbon of gold safely stored there, waiting for the right moment to take it out and slip back on his finger.

There's an instinct stopping him from doing so, the shadow clouding his life at the moment, threatening everyone close to him with harm. His marriage to Catherine isn't classified, yet he hopes Hesse doesn't know about her, won't reach for her. Not wearing the wedding band may seem silly, an irrelevant detail that won't actually keep Cath safe, but if it gives even the tiniest chance of protecting her from preying eyes, he's going for that.

And it's not the wedding ring that makes him a husband. The tingling feeling of warmth it spreads down his veins, when he has it on his finger, is merely a drop in the vast ocean of feelings he has for Catherine. The most comforting thought is knowing she doesn't need him to wear it, to be sure of his feelings.

A sudden pang of longing clenches his heart, the bittersweet combination of happiness and impatience for her imminent arrival. But it also sends a jolt of fear down his spine. So many steps behind Hesse, with no certainty of getting closer despite his determination and means, makes him dread for the danger it can pull Cath into. He has to make sure the case is closed, before she gets to Oahu.

Returning his focus to Danny, he rolls his eyes, while answering his previous question, "Something like that."

Steve turns his head, huffing impatiently as the awaited man is still nowhere to be found. "What's taking Chin so long?" Not for a moment had he any doubt in Chin's skills and connections, the experience the former HPD Lieutenant has as well as everything Steve has heard from his father about him, serve as the most solid resume. Steve had been downright honest with the words he had spoken to Chin a few hours ago. John had trusted him and that is enough for Steve.

Which is something that may seem to be a foolish mistake, even more so because it seems to be conflicting with the difficult relationship Steve had shared with his father - for many years Steve had been angry at his dad, felt betrayed, which invoked the clear trust issue he was struggling with. But John's assessment of people was something Steve learned to value and trust, because on that aspect his father was never wrong. Whether he chose to surround himself and his family only with good people, or he simply had an instinct for that, an instinct of an experienced officer, or inner personal skill.

Steve, however narcissistic or ego-driven it might seem, thinks of himself as a good judge of character too.

He finds the two detectives he has hijacked being great officers, probably also great men, but he has not yet reached the point of trusting them fully. With Chin Ho Kelly the vibe was there instantly. Maybe he needed to put the trust in someone, to find a rock of support in his pursuit of Hesse, and with Catherine miles away he reached out to a man, who was close to his father.

"Finally," he sighs, when a familiar face appears. Rolling his eyes at Chin's amused chuckle, Steve moves impatiently, ready to exhort them into their vehicles to follow the lead.

"I've got a name," Chin hands Steve a piece of paper, "Sang Min. But..."

As he pauses the three men look up at him, Danny sighing and mumbling under his breath that there's always a _but_. "He runs the island's human import-export business," Chin states seriously, holding Steve's gaze.

"So Hesse could've used him to get on or off the island," Steve nods, a twitch in his jaw betraying the tension that had risen with the thought that they could be too late. But his gut tells him that Hesse is still somewhere here, with all the roadblocks it's definitely harder to organize a quick escape.

"Let's say this guy's for real," Danny chimes in, setting the shave ice on the hood of the Camaro and pulling the T-shirt over his head, sighing with relief, "Still got no reason to tell us where Hesse is."

"We find some leverage," Chin's gaze slides over three faces, before settling back on Steve, "Twist his arm."

"Define leverage," any means are up on the table, Steve is motivated to cross some lines if needed, but any subsequent move has to be taken carefully as its failure might ruin the whole investigation.

Waiting a few seconds, when Steve takes the T-shirt off in one swift move, tossing it along with the shave ice into the nearest bin, Chin smirks slightly, "Simple bait and trap."


End file.
